Night Falls Across the Land
by Lianne
Summary: The night after Boromir's death, as the three groups settle down. Mild slash


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Night Falls Across the Land  
by Lianne  
February 2002  
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They followed the trail left by the orcs through the day and into the night until human strength failed, and even dwarf and elf strength flagged. Then, at last, they made camp, lighting a small fire and feeding themselves from the supplies they'd been given in Lothlorien. As soon as they were finished, Aragorn wrapped himself in his cloak and fell into the deep slumber of exhaustion.  
  
Legolas was making a last pass around their crude camp to check the track of the orcs and to ensure that there would be no unexpected visitors in the night.  
  
Unwilling to shut his eyes yet, Gimli pulled a comb from his pack, then undid the braids in his hair and beard, and began to comb them out. He did not consider himself as vain about his appearance as an elf, but they were caught up with leaves and twigs and things less pleasant from the fight and the chase immediately after.  
  
When his beard was once more as clean as he could make it and rebraided, and he reached behind him to deal with the rest of his hair. The elf returned and said, "We have gained on them, but they are still several hours ahead of us. If they make camp for the night, we might yet catch them if we keep going."   
  
Gimli snorted. "To do so, we would have to leave Aragorn behind. Would you do that?" he asked, nodding towards the human who was leader to their band, fractured as it was.   
  
Legolas shook his head. "No. We stay together, even if the company is broken." He sat down on the ground next to the fire, staring into the flames with an expression of defeat. "Do you think he was right to let Frodo and Sam go alone?"  
  
"He has good reason," Gimli said reluctantly, tying off the last braid. "The ring drove Boromir to the point of attacking the halfling. Who would it subvert next? Would one of us try to take the ring from him by force?" Legolas was strangely silent. "What are you hiding, elf?" Gimli growled, although in his voice there was none of the accusation that it might have held when they set out from Rivendell.  
  
"I have heard voices in my dreams," Legolas said softly. "Telling me of the great things I could accomplish with the ring. But the voices are weak, and I have ignored them."  
  
Gimli grimaced. "I have heard them too. Last night they were louder, even though we were still in the edges of the witch's forest. They promised me the power to cleanse the mines, restore them to greatness as a monument to my cousin, Balin."  
  
"And no doubt they promised such things to Boromir as well," Legolas said sadly. Gimli grunted and nodded. He had not been fond of the human, who had been arrogant in the way so many of his kind were, but he had deserved better than he had received from the orcs. "But what of Frodo and Sam?"  
  
"The halflings seem strangely immune to the evil of the ring. Perhaps they do not hear the voices." Legolas lifted his face to stare up through the branches of the trees, as though he could force them away to reveal the stars above. The firelight flickered across his features, fine and smooth, bare of hair without the need for a blade. No dwarf male past the age of puberty would dare show a face so naked, and yet, on the elf, it looked right.  
  
"Maybe, but the journey before them is long and perilous. Can they do it alone?"  
  
Gimli looked back in the direction they had come. In the distance was a faint glow, perhaps from the fires of Mount Doom itself. He sighed. "Pray that they can. Otherwise, we are all doomed."  
  
He turned back and found Legolas combing through his own hair with his fingers, looking more than half asleep. "Come here," he growled, and waved his comb when Legolas shot him a questioning look. The elf must have been tired, as he did not protest. Instead, he moved to sit between Gimli's legs, where the dwarf sat on a fallen tree.  
  
Working as delicately as many elves said dwarves were incapable of, Gimli undid the elf's braids and began to run his comb through the long golden hair. It was much like Galadriel's in color, but straight where the elf witch's was curled. Legolas had taken the time to tend it during their time in the elven woods, and it ran like silk through Gimli's hands, even though, like Gimli's, it had become stained and caught with debris more recently.  
  
"What do you think will happen if we fail?" Legolas asked in a voice nearly a whisper, leaning slightly against Gimli's leg, an expression of trust he had not expected.  
  
Gimli hesitated in his combing, not wanting to face the question. "We will die," he finally answered. "And many others as well. But I will not see it, since I will not admit failure until I breathe my last breath," he added strongly as he tied off the last braid in Legolas' hair, restoring it to the style it had been when he had sat proudly, haughty elf, at Elrond's council.  
  
"True," Legolas sighed, though Gimli could feel a faint smile pressed against his knee. "I would expect no less from the son of Gloin. So we shall win, or we shall die trying."  
  
"Indeed," Gimli said, softly stroking the shining hair, finer in color than the finest gold he had ever had the pleasure to craft with, singing softly to himself, though his voice was a hoarse croak compared to Legolas. He had seen nothing to equal the pale shimmer, even on other elves. Indeed, he had seen very few that were Legolas' equal in anything, be it in valor, skill, or beauty. Skin so fair that it was nearly white, even though he spent his days in the sun. Limbs long and slender, so unlike any dwarf. Fast with knife and faster with his bow, even at such close distances that only a fool would use a distance weapon. Light on his feet, Gimli reminded himself, remembering how the elf had run across the surface of the snow banks that his companions had had to push through. In the forest he moved silently, almost invisibly through the trees.  
  
Gimli chuckled to himself, although his humor was tinged with sadness. His father, Gloin, would take up his hammer to knock sense back into his son's head if he knew that Gimli was falling in love with an elf. A *male* elf. And yet, how could he resist? Legolas was impossible to resist.  
  
Suddenly he realized that he was still stroking the elf's hair, like one would a child's. Or a lover. He withdrew his hand guiltily, looking to see if Legolas was insulted by the liberty.  
  
And yet, the elf did not draw away. Instead, he sighed deeply and said, softly, "Sing some more, please."  
  
Gimli smiled, and returned to his stroking, softly singing a lullaby his mother had sung to him when he was young. Legolas sighed, and moved closer, pressing against Gimli's leg. Gimli continued to sing, although he continued to watch the forest surrounding them, his axe close at hand.  
  
When death loomed, one took what small pleasure one could.   
  
~~~~~~ 


End file.
